


i remain in shadows growing wings

by aeneapsych



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Childhood Friends, Eventual Happy Ending, Fae & Fairies, Friends to Lovers, M/M, fae!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeneapsych/pseuds/aeneapsych
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up, Scott’s only friend was Stiles.  Problem was, Stiles was imaginary.  </p>
<p>But when Scott gets bitten by a werewolf, he finds things weren’t as they seemed, and that Stiles is very, incredibly, real.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“I've never left, Scott,” Stiles said, and he pinned Scott with a look that made his heart catch in his throat. “I've always been here, by your side. You just weren't always able to see me.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	i remain in shadows growing wings

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the Sciles Reversebang 2014. The beautiful art that inspired me can be seen [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1938792), by [SuperfluousEmi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperfluousEmi). Beta’d by the always amazing BK.

Scott doesn't remember a time when Stiles didn't exist. It seemed like every important moment of his life so far included Stiles. When Scott slipped on the rocks by the stream in the preserve and broke his ankle, Stiles was there to keep him company as he cried, waiting for his mom to find him. Stiles celebrated with Scott after he won his first pee wee football match, running through the woods and playing the best game of hide-and-seek ever. Then, when Scott's dad left, packing his bags in the middle of the night and sneaking out before Scott woke up for school, Stiles sat in the closet with Scott while he hid from his mom. He hadn't wanted her to see him cry because he felt like his dad leaving was his fault. Scott knew better now, but sometimes when he saw his mom pretending not to be sad, he felt a sharp ache in his gut, thinking that maybe if he had been good enough, his dad would have stayed. Scott's favorite thing about Stiles was that he knew exactly when Scott didn't want to talk about something, when he would rather go outside and play instead of sit inside and mope. Scott didn't have many friends, but Stiles was always there when he needed him.

As Scott got older, he started to realize what he hadn't when he was little: Stiles wasn't real. Well, not in the way Scott or his mom were real, or the kids down the street that came over and smashed his ninja turtles that one afternoon. Sure, he _looked_ real enough, with long gangly limbs, and pale skin peppered with moles and freckles, brown hair sticking up in a mess on the top of his head. Stiles could touch things, trees and rocks and toys and such, but never Scott. Which was okay, Scott guessed, because boys didn't normally touch all that much according to his dad, but sometimes he wanted to be able to hug Stiles when he was sad, or hold his hand as they raced in between the trees. No one else besides Scott could see him. Scott spent almost an entire summer when he was eight trying to convince his mom that Stiles was real, setting up elaborate traps and breaking two plates from his grandmother's china set before his mom put a stop to it.

By the time Scott was in middle school he rarely saw Stiles anymore. Sometimes he would join Scott in his bedroom as he played video games, making comments like how if he just used the two-handed axe he'd be able to kill the orc in the cave and move on. Sunshine streamed through the messy strands of Stiles' hair as he lay on Scott's bed, flat on his stomach with his chin propped up on his fists, reminding Scott of the way the light would peek through the leaves when they spent afternoons together in the woods. Most of the time Scott was alone when he was at home, the house quiet when his mom worked double shifts, achingly devoid of Stiles' incessant chatter and bright laughter.

The next couple of years were hard for Scott. Kids at school could be mean, even more so to the awkward, asthmatic kid who didn't have many friends, but he kept his head down and studied hard for his classes, practiced lacrosse in his backyard so he could be good enough to try out for the team when he got to high school. Scott made a couple of friends, other quiet kids who didn't quite fit in which the other cliques, but no one ever compared to Stiles. Even though Scott could go for weeks without thinking of his old friend, suddenly Scott would see something that reminded him of Stiles: a warm patch of sunlight, a loud laugh from across the courtyard at school - and a warm rushing feeling would flood him with thoughts and memories of Stiles. His mom had stopped asking about him too, and Scott knew she was probably happy that he had quit trying to convince her that his imaginary friend was real.

In high school things began to look up for Scott. All of the practice paid off, and he made the lacrosse team, even if he only warmed the bench during games. He met a wonderful, beautiful girl named Allison Argent, who was new in town, her family having moved away from Beacon Hills before she was born. They dated for a time, but eventually decided they were better off as friends. Allison's best friend Lydia Martin, and her douchey jock boyfriend, Jackson Whittemore, who also happened to be on the lacrosse team with Scott, sometimes hung out with them, albeit reluctantly. Scott could go for weeks without thinking of Stiles, but whenever he did, he couldn't help the pang of guilt for forgetting, and he often wondered how an imaginary friend from childhood could affect him the way Stiles did.

During winter break junior year, Danny, Jackson's best friend and goalie on the lacrosse team, held a bonfire party in the empty lot behind his house. Nearly everyone at school had shown up, invited or not, and Danny's older brother had brought in several kegs. The four friends had ended up in the woods surrounding the lot, stumbling around with several others wanting more privacy from the chaos around the bonfire. They had been separated from the rest of the group, and found themselves standing in front of a burned-down shell of a house. Jackson had begun to complain loudly, pulling at Lydia's arm to get her to leave, when a harsh cry came from inside the house. Allison turned to look at Scott, and without a word started towards the front door of the house.

“Allison!” Scott cried out as he ran towards her, following closely behind as she pulled the warped door open and stepped inside. He began to shut the door when Lydia pushed it open, pulling Jackson by the hand to join them.

They followed Allison around the house, Jackson making snarky comments and continuing to complain, Lydia hissing at him to shut him up. Scott kept silent, the quiet, eerie feeling of the house sending chills down his spine. Once they reached what looked to have been a family room, complete with a half-burnt couch, Allison stopped.

“I think this is the old Hale house,” she said, a frown on her face as she looked around. “My dad told me about it before we moved here.”

She opened her mouth to say something else when a massive black shape crashed through the ceiling, falling on top of her. Scott shouted and dove toward her, Lydia and Jackson's screams distant in his ears as he focused on trying to find her amidst the rubble and dust. Once he got to her she was coughing, doubled over with ash flying from her hair. The black shape that had fallen was gone, but Scott had a feeling it would be coming back, and they needed to get out of the house. Scott held out a hand to help Allison up from the floor when suddenly the air was knocked out of him as a heavy, fur-covered mass plowed into him. A sharp pain ripped through his side and Scott howled in agony. The heavy weight of his attacker disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Everything was a blur of noise and movement as Scott tried to roll himself onto his back, but the pain was too much. Strong hands grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him bodily, and the wound in his side flared up, white hot. The mysterious stranger dragged him out of the house, and Scott watched dazedly as Allison, Lydia, and Jackson followed, similar looks of horror on their faces.

The stranger laid Scott gingerly on the ground and came around to face him just as the other three joined them outside. Introducing himself as Derek Hale, the stranger gave them a rushed story about a house fire, a catatonic uncle, and what Scott could've sworn was werewolves. He pleaded with them to leave the woods and not return, and said that he would find Scott tomorrow to help him. Before he left he made them all promise not to take Scott to the hospital, and to trust him that it would be in all of their best interests. Once Derek was gone, Scott felt even worse, the pain still hot at his side and his mind a fog from everything that had happened. He could feel himself begin to drift in and out of consciousness as Jackson and Allison argued over how to get Scott out of the woods.

Allison knelt down beside Scott and put a hand over his chest. “Why did you do that, you could've gotten killed,” she said, a sad look in her eyes.

“I couldn't let you go in there alone,” Scott answered, straining to keep his eyes open a little longer as he felt Jackson grab hold of his shoulders to lift him again.

Allison said, “I can take care of myself.” Scott just smiled in response, too exhausted to speak.

Someone picked up his legs and Scott looked down his body expecting to see Lydia. He let out a shocked gasp as he realized it wasn't her after all, but a tall, slender teenager about their age, with a sharp cheekboned face dotted with moles below unruly brown hair.

The boy looked up from his grasp on Scott's feet and smiled, and Scott's heart climbed into his throat. “You're an idiot,” the boy said and shook his head.

Everything became too much and Scott's vision began to waver, but he croaked out, “Stiles?” before he felt himself start to pull under.

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles replied. “I'm here.”

~~~~

“Scott.”

“Scott!”

Gasping for breath as he sat up, Scott looked around to find himself in the back room of the veterinary office where he worked with Dr. Deaton. He clutched the edges of the metal examining table he was sitting on as he tried to get his bearings. Allison stood next to the table with her hand on his arm, a pinched look of concern on her face.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“I...” Scott began, stuttering out a few unintelligible noises as he turned to find Lydia and Jackson staring back at him. “I'm fine, I guess.” He felt fine, but he knew there was some reason why he shouldn't.

“Lemme see,” a voice said from behind Scott, and a hand came around to grab at his t-shirt, yanking it up to reveal his side. “See? Completely healed. I told you.”

Healed? What had happened to Scott before he passed out? He reached down to touch the unmarked skin there, before comprehension dawned.

Scott shifted on the table and found himself facing what looked like a grown-up Stiles. “Stiles?” he asked, reaching out to touch, anything to anchor himself to reality when everything felt more like a dream. “Is that really you?”

Stiles, and really it had to be him, it couldn't be anyone else with those mischievous brown eyes, replied, “Of course it's me, Scotty.”

“He suggested we bring you here,” Allison said, and Scott whipped his head around to look at her.

“You can see him?” Scott asked, voice cracking slightly. “You can see Stiles?”

Jackson snickered in the background and made a comment that questioned Scott's current mental state. Lydia smacked him on the shoulder.

“Why wouldn't I be able to see him?” Allison asked, her concerned look deepening. She turned to Lydia and said, “Maybe we do need to bring him to the hospital.”

“No!” Stiles protested. “No hospitals, he's fine. I promise.”

Scott merely responded by gaping like a fish. He knew he should be concerned about why he might need to go to the hospital, but all he could focus on was the fact that his childhood imaginary friend was standing before him, flesh and blood and completely visible to others.

“How are you here?” Scott managed to get out, moving his hands from Stiles' shoulders down his arms, squeezing slightly and feeling the trim muscles underneath. He shook his head, completely amazed that he was finally able to touch Stiles, after all these years. Clearly, he must be dreaming.

“I moved to Beacon Hills, just a few weeks ago,” Stiles explained, glancing up at Allison. “I told them how we used to hang out when we were kids, every time you went to visit your aunt in San Francisco. I was at the party tonight, and saw you walk into the woods, so I followed, and...” Stiles shrugged.

This was... wrong. Everything about this was wrong. Stiles wasn't from San Francisco. Stiles wasn't even real; Scott knew this. If he was real then Scott wouldn't have spent so much time when he was younger trying to convince his mom of it, and he certainly never _hung out_ with Stiles when he went to visit his aunt.

“Stiles told us how close you two were,” Lydia said. “It's sweet. Wasn't it, Jackson?”

Jackson snorted and rolled his eyes. “I still don't understand why we brought McCall to the creepy vet's office.”

“Dude, I told you that what happened to Scott can't be fixed by a regular doctor,” Stiles said. “We'll wait for Deaton to come back and he'll help us until Hale can get here.”

Memories began to come back now to Scott, of being attacked and bitten in the burned out shell of the Hale house, covered in dust and ash. Of searing pain at his side, flesh ripping and tearing. Being dragged out of the house by Derek Hale, who was just a teenager when the rest of his family were burned alive in their home several years ago.

“You seem to know more than you're letting on,” Lydia said, one eyebrow cocked. “What aren't you telling us?”

Stiles sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “There's a lot I'm not telling you, and now isn't the time. Look, just believe me when I say I know what attacked you in the old Hale house, and I know what bit Scott, and I know why the bite has already healed. I know you heard Derek mention werewolves, so don't play dumb and try to pretend that didn't happen. Just face it, your lives are going to be different from now on and there's nothing you can do about it.”

At the mention of werewolves, Scott's heart began to pound, his head feeling as if it was going to explode. He couldn't be serious, things like werewolves just didn't exist, but neither did previously imaginary friends.

Lydia looked like she wanted to protest, but Allison jumped in. “Alright, fine,” she said. “This is the craziest shit I've ever heard, but I know what I saw and I know what I felt when that thing attacked me, and it wasn't human, and it wasn't an animal. So, let's just wait for Dr. Deaton to get here, and then hopefully Derek will be here soon too.”

“It's almost five in the morning,” Lydia said. “I have to get back home or my mother is going to kill me.”

“Go, all of you,” Stiles said. “I'll stay with him.”

Allison looked worried, her eyes shifting between Scott and Stiles.

“Scott,” Stiles said, looking at him directly and grasping onto one of Scott's arms. “Tell her you'll be safe with me.”

Scott looked into his friend's eyes, and even though he couldn't explain what was happening, or even really know if he was awake, the answer to that was simple: “I'll be safe with Stiles,” Scott said.

~~~~

Allison left with Lydia and Jackson in tow a few minutes later. Dr. Deaton wouldn't arrive to work for another couple of hours, so Stiles helped Scott off the examining table and into the back office where Deaton had a small couch and a blanket. Stiles made Scott lie down and covered him with the musty fabric.

Stiles sat down in front of Scott's legs, teetering on the edge of the couch. “Obviously, we have some things to talk about.” He laughed and placed a hand on Scott's knee.

“I'd say so,” Scott replied, flicking his gaze between Stiles' face and hand. “How about let's start with how you're here.”

“I've never left, Scott,” Stiles said, and he pinned Scott with a look that made his heart catch in his throat. “I've always been here, by your side. You just weren't always able to see me.”

Scott shook his head, and it felt like he was trying to clear cobwebs from his brain. “That doesn't... that doesn't make any sense. You weren't real, Stiles. You were my imaginary friend when I was a kid. Unless all of this is a dream, or I've gone crazy, I'm not sure which.”

Stiles had looked away again and was fidgeting with the blanket on top of Scott's leg. “You're not dreaming, and you're not crazy. It's actually pretty simple: I'm your fairy guardian.”

A sharp, loud laugh burst out of Scott's mouth, unbidden. “You're kidding!” he shouted, feeling ridiculous that he was having this conversation, even if it was in his head.

“I'm completely serious,” Stiles said, and he turned to look at Scott again. “Why is that so hard to believe, when just tonight you got bit by a freakin' _werewolf_ and you're gonna turn into one yourself?”

Scott felt his pulse start to race, and he sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the couch. “I can only handle one thing at a time, okay?” As much as Scott wanted to believe this was all a dream, everything just seemed too real, from the smell of Deaton's office, to the rush of blood pumping through his body. It was almost as if he could _feel_ himself getting better, stronger, since he woke up here in the vet's office. He remembered getting bit, he remembered the pain, and seeing that previously damaged skin so completely healed now, Scott knew something wasn't right. If his life really was turning into a horror movie, he wasn't sure he could handle something as incomprehensible as his imaginary friend being real. There were only so many strange things a person could take in one night.

Stiles stood up next to him and held out a hand. “Come outside with me,” he told Scott, crooking his fingers in a way he used to when he wanted Scott to follow him deeper into the woods. It was that tiny gesture that made Scott grab Stiles' hand and pull himself to his feet. Stiles kept a grip on Scott's hand as he led them towards the back service entrance of the office, and outside to the employee parking lot. He let go his grip and stepped backwards from Scott.

“Just... give me some room, okay?” Stiles asked.

Scott nodded, noticing how he could make out fine details, like the pattern on Stiles' shirt and the color of his eyes, more clearly in the dark than he ever could have before. He shivered in the cool air.

Stiles pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to Scott, who caught it without even thinking about it. A smile spread over Stiles' face and he sighed, tilted his head back to look up at the stars. He lifted his arms from his sides, fingers spread out and stiff, and Scott thought he could see the air ripple over Stiles, the way it does on a hot day, almost like a mirage. Then suddenly a loud crack sounded through the air, echoing in the empty parking lot, and wings, incredibly large and wonderfully golden in color, unfolded around Stiles. They flapped slowly several times, and Stiles floated into the air, his gaze still on the heavens, eyes closed with a look of bliss on his face.

Scott stood rooted to the spot, a wordless cry slipping from his mouth. Stiles was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. A greenish, silvery shimmer danced over his skin, the glow radiating out from his body. His wings looked paper-thin, almost translucent, and there was a thick webbing that ran through them, dark brown in color, like moving tree branches. They beat steadily, keeping Stiles afloat a couple feet off the ground. He finally opened his eyes and looked down, their normal amber color now burning bright as they focused on Scott.

“Need more proof, Scotty?” Stiles asked, the familiar smirk on his face the only thing that reminded Scott of his childhood friend.

“I don't... Stiles, what _are_ you?” Scott stuttered out.

Stiles pulled in his wings, bending them slightly to lower himself to the ground. He landed softly, his toes barely touching the pavement before he began to walk towards Scott. “Fairy, fae, sidhe, seelie,” Stiles said in an odd echoing voice, his wings folding in further as he stopped in front of Scott and reached his hands out to grasp Scott's shoulders. “All of those are names my kind has been called over the millennia. We're older than the human race, and we've lived amongst you this whole time. Just like the werewolves you've now joined, we've lived in the shadows and blended into your societies. There are different types of us, serving different... purposes, jobs, if you will. I'm one of the ones the old fairy tales are about – a guardian of a sort, assigned to certain children when they're young to protect them. We get paired off when we're young too, so we age with the children, live our lives alongside you. You're mine, Scott.”

Scott tore his gaze away from Stiles' glowing eyes long enough to track the shivery movement of colors across his skin, down his neck, over his collarbone. There was no more denying this now, not with such incredible evidence in front of him. “I'm yours?” Scott asked, the question simple and complex at the same time.

Stiles nodded, moved one of his hands from Scott's shoulder to cup the side of his neck, his thumb coming up to rub along the edge of Scott's jaw.

A flush ran up Scott's chest into his neck, and he asked, “But why now? Why can I see you suddenly now when I couldn't for the past couple of years?”

Rearing back, Stiles bared his teeth in a mock growl and held his hands in front of him, fingers crooked in an almost comical display of claws. “Werewolves, dude.” Stiles laughed, and the glow on his skin began to recede, the otherworldly air and way of speaking drifting away from him. The air around him shivered like before and in between one blink and the next, the wings were gone.

“So, because I'm a werewolf now,” Scott said, “that's why I can see you again?”

Stiles turned around with a flourish. “Yep,” he replied, dragging out the word and adding a _pop_ at the end. “Most of my fae abilities don't work on other supernatural creatures. Just the normal ones we all have,” Stiles said and he jerked his thumbs back, gesturing to where his wings were previously. “Like hiding my wings, making my skin look human, my voice normal, those still work. But guardian fae like me normally don't show themselves to their humans once they reach puberty. Helps keep the imaginary friend thing going.” He shrugged.

“Does that mean I could see other... uh, fae, like you?” Scott asked. He had a brief thought of hundreds of shiny people flying around Beacon Hills. He wasn't sure if that was awesome or terrifying.

Making a face, Stiles replied, “Yeah, I guess so. But there's not many of us here in town. It's kinda lonely, actually, in terms of my kind. I pretty much spend all day following you around and watching you... heh, you know. Do, your _thang_.” He chuckled, and Scott was reminded again of the goofy friend from his childhood.

Scott laughed along with Stiles until he had a thought, and he froze. “Wait,” Scott said, pointing at Stiles. “Dude! Do you watch me in the shower? When I jerk off?” Scott's mind began to flash through all of the possible embarrassing things Stiles could have witnessed throughout the years.

Stiles rushed forward, eyes wide. “What? Give me some credit, man! I am always considerate of 'Scott Time', okay? I give you your privacy.”

The fact that Stiles knew that Scott referred to jerking off as 'Scott Time' was enough to tell Scott that Stiles wasn't being completely truthful. He decided to let it slide though, since they had some more serious things to talk about.

“What am I going to tell my mom?” Scott wailed, all of sudden hit with a wave of worries, now that he was convinced this was all real. “What's going to happen on the full moon? Am I gonna kill someone? Holy shit, Stiles, am I gonna kill somebody on the full moon?” Scott felt the ground slip out from under him, and the horizon began to spin around him. Panicked, Scott's breath cut off, and he gasped and wheezed, straining to pull in more air.

“Scott, hey,” Stiles said, and then he was holding Scott up, grounding him, allowing him to breathe again. “Derek Hale will be here soon, and he'll tell you everything you need to know. Relax, breathe with me, Scott.”

“Derek, was he the one that bit me?” Scott asked, still fuzzy on the details of his attack.

Stiles shook his head. “No, Derek didn't bite you. Plus, he's not an alpha, so he couldn't turn you even if he wanted. Derek will help. The Hale family has protected Beacon Hills for a long time; they're trustworthy.”

After a couple more minutes of Stiles assuring Scott that everything would be okay and he wouldn't be alone in this new chapter of his life, they went back inside the clinic to wait for Derek and Dr. Deaton. Scott was still unsure of why his boss would be able to help too, but Stiles convinced Scott that he shouldn't doubt the man.

They scarfed down a couple energy bars that Scott kept in the drawers behind the front counter while they waited, Scott asking how Stiles was able to eat when he was invisible to most humans. Turns out Stiles didn't _have_ to eat, but he sure did enjoy it when he had the opportunity. It would explain where all the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies Scott's mom often made seemed to have disappeared.

A little before six the front door opened, the jangling bell announcing their guest. Derek Hale staggered in, shirt and jeans ripped, scratches down his face, dried blood caked in his hair and on his clothes. Scott ran forward to catch Derek before he could collapse onto the floor and managed to get both arms around him just in time. For as heavy as Derek looked, he felt surprisingly light in Scott's arms, and Scott wondered if this was yet another side effect of his new 'status'.

“Shit, dude, what happened?” Stiles asked from behind them. He ran over to kneel down next to them on the floor.

“I killed him,” Derek spat out. Black blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth.

Scott watched as one of the smaller cuts on Derek's face began to heal, the skin slowly pulling together. “Who?” he asked.

Derek coughed, spitting up more blood, and said, “My uncle, the one that bit you. He wasn't supposed to,” he paused to lean over, more hacking coughs shaking his body, “wasn't supposed to turn anyone against their will. We don't do that.”

“Peter Hale bit Scott?” Stiles asked, flailing backwards onto his butt. “Wasn't he catatonic?”

“Apparently it wasn't that serious,” Derek said as he looked over at Stiles. “Who are you again?”

Stiles waved awkwardly, “Hey, I'm Stiles. Scott's friend.”

Derek studied Stiles for a moment before he said, “You're not human.”

Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed at Derek. “You got it buddy. Ten points for Gryffindor if you can guess what I am.”

Scott chuckled at Stiles' reference and wondered if Derek would be able to guess what Stiles was. Did werewolves know much about other supernatural creatures?

“You smell.... like leaves and sunshine,” Derek said as he wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand, smearing a line across his chin. “Fae, I'm guessing.”

Stiles whooped in excitement. “Yeah, wolfman knows his stuff!”

“I don't know what kind, though,” Derek continued. He shifted his legs under him as if to try and stand. Scott scurried backwards and stood up to help Derek before he pitched forward.

Standing up to help Scott lead Derek to the back examination room, Stiles said, “Guardian, actually. I've been with Scott since... well, since we were both old enough to walk.”

“I don't understand,” Scott said as they shuffled along. “How do you remember stuff like that when I can barely remember being that young. And know things well enough to be my guardian.”

Stiles shrugged. “It's just in my biology. We're born knowing what to do, who to protect.”

“Sounds almost like a soulmate,” Scott murmured.

They helped lay Derek on the exam table that Scott had just recently vacated, and Stiles said, “That's exactly what it is, Scott.”

~~~~

After Scott and Stiles cleaned the blood off of Derek and ensured all of his injuries had fully healed, Deaton finally showed up to the clinic. During a heated discussion between Derek and Deaton, Scott learned that Deaton was apparently incredibly knowledgeable in werewolves and other supernatural creatures, and actually used to work for Derek's family in some capacity, but was now mostly retired. At this point Scott wouldn't have been surprised to find out that his mom was an ancient vampire queen and his dad was a time-traveling Scottish Highlander.

Deaton and Derek gave Scott a list of basic things to work on before the full moon, like keeping his pulse rate low (so, no video games), staying away from any activities that might get him too excited (apparently no lacrosse, either), and attempting to control his change at a slower pace (decided after a briefly disastrous incident which resulted in two large shelves full of supplies crashing to the floor). Stiles promised that he could help with that, and reminded everyone present that he had supernatural healing abilities too, thank you very much.

It was close to lunch time when Scott and Stiles finally left the clinic after arranging to meet up with Derek next Monday for training, and Scott was so hungry he felt like he could eat a horse. When he expressed this sentiment out loud in terror to Stiles as they climbed into an old, dusty blue Jeep, Stiles ensured Scott that werewolves usually didn't eat animals and suggested they stop at Wendy's instead. Scott wanted to be disgusted with himself after he polished off four double bacon cheeseburgers and two large fries, but he honestly didn't care at that point. What he needed now was to collapse onto his bed and sleep for a good twelve hours.

“Wait,” Scott asked Stiles as they pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot, “If you're always around, where do you sleep?”

“Guest bedroom,” Stiles said, slurping the last of his soda obnoxiously. “I used to sleep in your bed with you when we were younger, but had to stop when we got big enough that you would have felt me there.”

“You slept in my bed with me?” Scott asked.

“Hey,” Stiles said, indignant, “it was like a slumber party every night, buddy. You should be excited.”

Scott threw up his hands but decided to cede that argument. “And where'd you get this Jeep?”

“I acquired it,” Stiles said. And no matter of pushing made Stiles tell Scott any more on that matter.

When they got to Scott's street Stiles pulled into a small thicket of trees and turned off the Jeep. He twisted around in his seat to face Scott and said, “Look, I only showed myself to your friends because when you got bit I...” Stiles cleared his throat and shook his head, pausing for a few seconds. “I was afraid you were going to die and I lost all my concentration when I ran over to help you. And since your friends know about me now, and think I'm your friend from San Francisco, I can't really keep hiding from your mom. You did have that group of friends you used to hang out with when you visited Aunt Lissa, remember? Maybe we can say I'm one of them and my family moved to town? That way I only have to hide at night and we can just pretend I'm hanging out at your house a lot.”

Scott figured that it was as good an idea as anything and agreed with Stiles before they hopped out of the Jeep. 

“This is weird,” Stiles said as they walked up the stairs of the front porch.

“What’s weird?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone through your front door without having to slip around you or something awkward like that, so you didn’t know I was there. It just feels like we’re little kids again.” He smiled at Scott, a fond look on his face.

Scott stopped with the key halfway turned in the lock and asked, “So why could I never touch you before either?”

“You could have,” Stiles replied. “It just helped keep the imaginary friend thing going.”

“I hated it,” Scott murmured. “Hated not being able to touch you. It made me feel lonely sometimes when I knew I shouldn’t be. Not sure if that makes any sense.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said and he wrapped his long fingers around Scott’s bicep, squeezing for a second. “And if it makes you feel any better, I hated it too.”

An odd, fluttery sensation appeared in Scott’s stomach hearing that and he felt his cheeks heat up as he pushed the door open to let them inside. 

Stiles skipped past Scott and threw his hands up, walking backwards. “And, hey! Now we can touch each other whenever we want.” 

Scott spluttered while trying to find the right words to respond, and Stiles gave him an exaggerated wink before slipping into the kitchen. 

After grabbing a couple bottles of water, they climbed up the stairs side-by-side, shoving each other playfully as they went. Stiles stopped outside the guest bedroom, hovering at the threshold. 

Scott laid a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and turned him back to face him. “C’mon,” he told Stiles as he stifled a yawn. “No point in hiding in there any more.” Which was true, at least while Scott’s mom wasn’t around, but a deep part of Scott’s mind told him that the real reason he didn’t want Stiles sleeping in there was because he was afraid if he lost sight of Stiles for too long, he’d lose him forever again. 

~~~~

Scott was woken up by a light touch trailing down his stomach, a warm hand settling on the outside of his thigh. He adjusted his hips, rolling them backwards, ass pressing against Stiles’ erection. Gasping when Stiles tucked his hand inside the waistband of Scott’s boxers, Scott reached behind him to cup the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles’ long fingers wrapped around Scott’s cock, and he squeezed gently, thumb circling on the head, smearing precome. Scott bucked his hips forward, fucking into Stiles’ fist, gripping Stiles’ hair in his fingers to anchor himself. Stiles burrowed his face into Scott’s neck, his lips warm and wet against the delicate skin there, and began to slide his fist along the length of Scott’s dick at a slow, leisurely pace. A whine pulled itself from the back of Scott’s throat and he pressed his hips harder into Stiles’ grip, urging him to move faster, hold tighter. It felt as if every want and need Scott had ever had to touch and be touched by Stiles was culminating into this one moment, like an itch buried under his skin, hot and incessant. The slow fog he awoke from was clearing, and now Scott could sense everything at a heightened state; the sound of Stiles’ breathing against his neck, the smell of sweat and a muskiness that Scott could only describe as arousal, the feel of Stiles’ hard cock through the cotton of their underwear, sliding against the cleft of Scott’s ass. 

“Let me, let me,” Stiles murmured into Scott’s neck, his voice broken and strained. 

Scott turned his head towards Stiles as much as their position would allow and said, “Anything. Anything you want.”

Stiles pulled his hand from Scott’s boxers and slipped from behind him, pushing Scott’s shoulder down onto the mattress so he could straddle Scott’s lap. Leaning down, Stiles pressed an urgent kiss to Scott’s mouth, and Scott could feel Stiles’ hands shake as he gripped the sides of Scott’s face.

“Stiles...” Scott began to say when Stiles sat up, breaking from their kiss, panting as he stared at Scott, eyes wide. His throat felt tight, and Scott tried to swallow, the rough, aching sensation overwhelming him. Stiles’ tongue peeked out to trace along his lower lip, and Scott trailed the movement with his eyes. “I need…” Scott tried again, seemingly unable to finish a sentence with how everything was building up inside him.

“I know, Scott,” Stiles said, and he kissed the edge of Scott’s jaw before sliding down, hands trailing over Scott’s chest as he settled himself between Scott’s legs. He tilted his head up to look at Scott and slid Scott’s boxers from his hips, down past his thighs and calves, pulling them off his feet and over the side of the bed. Burying his face into the crook of Scott’s hip, Stiles grabbed underneath Scott’s knees and pushed, opening his legs further. He dragged his nose through the thick hair surrounding Scott’s dick, and Scott shivered in response, clutched at the bedsheets, hearing the fabric pop and rip as his claws sprung free. Stiles licked a tentative stripe up the underside of Scott’s cock, his eyes locked on Scott’s, a question in his gaze. 

Scott nodded and placed a gentle hand on Stiles’ head, pressed down lightly, urging Stiles to keep going. Heat engulfed the head of Scott’s dick as Stiles wrapped his lips around him, his tongue pressing against the underside. Stiles bobbed his head, each time swallowing more of Scott’s length until his nose was nestled into the dark tuft of hair. Scott clenched his stomach muscles in concentration, not wanting to buck up into Stiles mouth, and a low growl curled out from his lungs, startling him. A muffled laugh bubbled out of Stiles, the vibrations shooting straight up Scott’s dick and into his gut. Stiles finally raised his head, lips sliding along Scott’s dick, leaving a wet trail of spit.

“There’s the reaction I wanted,” Stiles said, a string of saliva connecting from his bottom lip to the tip of Scott’s dick. Scott reached out to break the connection, rubbed his thumb along the wetness of Stiles’ lips before he pressed it inside Stiles’ mouth. Stiles sucked on Scott’s thumb, eyes closed, a look of quiet, contented pleasure on his face. He let go of Scott’s thumb and said, “I’m going to suck you again, and I want you to come in my mouth.”

Scott’s eyes rolled back in his head, but Stiles didn’t give him a chance to reply, simply taking Scott back into his mouth again, his pace quicker than before. It wasn’t long before Scott began to feel his orgasm building, and he scrambled to find a place for his hands, wanting to touch Stiles but afraid of hurting him with his claws. He finally settled on pressing the heels of his hands on Stiles’s shoulders, fingers splayed out, while he lost control of his hips and bucked once, twice into Stiles’ mouth as he came, hard and fast, white flashes of light popping beneath his eyelids. He felt Stiles crawl up his chest and set his hands next to Scott’s head, resting his forehead against Scott’s. Stiles slid his cock in the crevice of Scott’s hip, muttering unintelligible words, his breath warm on Scott’s face, until he was coming in short, jerky movements as he shot over Scott’s stomach and chest, warmth pooling in his belly button. 

They laid side-by-side, chests heaving as they tried to take in more air, too tired to care about cleaning up the mess. Scott laughed suddenly, his head spinning with thoughts, and asked, “What was that?”

Stiles turned over on his side to face Scott. “You didn’t like it?” 

Scott could hear the worry in Stiles’ voice, so he turned over as well to look Stiles in the eyes. “No, I loved it. I just… wasn’t expecting it, I guess. But it makes sense, if I think about it.” He smiled, and watched as the nervous look on Stiles’ face disappeared. The urgent ache from before had now turned liquid and warm, flowing through his body as they lay there, happy and sated. It didn’t matter if Scott hadn’t expected this, it felt natural, and real, and that’s all that he cared about.

~~~~

After a few days, they set up a routine. Stiles would hide himself from Scott’s mom before school, and would stay invisible as Scott went to his classes. Stiles told him it wasn’t too difficult to keep up the invisibility, but Scott still felt bad that he had to hide from others. After school was out, Stiles would show himself to others again, the boys hanging out in Scott’s room, or outside at the lacrosse field practicing, or in the woods fooling around. They joined Allison, Lydia, and Jackson on Friday nights to go to the movies and for pizza after, and Scott couldn’t help but notice how much happier Stiles was when he didn’t have to pretend to not exist. Lydia seemed to take quite a liking to Stiles, teasing him in the way she did so well, snarky comments masking what Scott knew was actual fondness. Scott couldn’t be happier with how Allison felt about him and Stiles’ relationship, after he told her the first week. Scott knew not every couple remained friends after they broke up, and Allison’s genuine acceptance and joy at seeing Scott and Stiles together was more than he could have ever asked for. Even Jackson, who normally wasn’t nice to anyone that wasn’t Lydia, admitted he thought Stiles “wasn’t too bad”. From Jackson that was practically an admission of love. 

A couple times a week Derek met the boys in the woods to help Scott continue his werewolf training, stressing the upcoming full moon and the need for safety. Stiles always argued, both while Derek was there and after he left, that he had all the information he needed to help Scott, but Derek insisted he be there, saying that Scott was part of his pack, and pack was family. Scott thought that Stiles’ hesitancy to trust Derek had nothing to do with disliking him, but a more basic jealously of taking away Scott’s attention. The day Scott told Stiles this, Stiles became so angry he knocked down an entire copse of trees, branches and leaves flying around in a whirlwind before he settled down and apologized. He told Scott that he didn’t want to act like that, he knew Scott had other friends and people who cared about him who he had every right to want to spend time with, but going for so long without real interaction with Scott and having it back now, it made it difficult sometimes. He didn’t want to share Scott, and Scott understood the feeling, knew the way his stomach tightened into knots when he caught others staring at Stiles when they were in public, girls and boys flirting with him before Scott could make it known that Stiles was taken. The first time that happened, Scott took Stiles back to his bedroom and fucked Stiles’ throat until tears ran down his face, then apologized over and over after he came, until Stiles finally pushed him onto his back on the bed, telling him how it was the hottest thing he’d ever done before, and made him promise they’d do it again. 

One of the tricks Derek taught Scott was to keep his heart rate low, that it would help him keep the shift under control. This was going to be especially important around the full moon, and Derek advised that Scott keep himself as calm as he could for the couple days before and the day of, even taking off school if he needed to. Luckily, the full moon was happening on a Saturday, so Scott didn’t worry about having to pretend to be sick for his mom, which was never a good idea for a son of a nurse, who could spot a fake illness at one-hundred yards. Stiles came up with an idea to go camping in the woods the night of the full moon, tent and sleeping bags and everything, that way they’d at least be away from Scott’s mom and he could tear through the woods if he needed to, with Stiles and Derek there to keep watch. Derek declined the offer to camp with them, but promised he would be near enough that he could hear Scott if they needed help. In the days before the full moon, Stiles helped Scott practice keeping his heart rate down, using a heart monitor he stole from the locker room while Scott was at lacrosse practice. They sat in the woods in the afternoons before dinner, Stiles teasing Scott with kisses, pulling away when the beeps alerted them that Scott’s heart rate was too high. The urge to keep kissing Stiles was the best incentive Scott could imagine, and it didn’t take long before he could will his heart rate lower in seconds. The promise of mutual blowjobs at the end of the night didn’t hurt either. 

~~~~

“Tent?”

“Yep,” Scott replied.

“Sleeping bags?” Stiles asked as he continued on with his list.

“Uh huh,” Scott said, sighing quietly as he tried to placate Stiles and his anal retentive packing tendencies. 

“Mosquito repellant?” Stiles asked as he rustled through one of the several bags he decided were absolutely necessary for their one night camping trip in the woods.

“Stiles!” Scott said, finally having enough. “It’s too cold for mosquitos, I told you that before. We just need the tent, our sleeping bags, some food and water and that’s it. Plus a change of clothes in case I rip through mine…” Scott really hoped all the preparation would make this first full moon run as smoothly as possible, but Derek warned him that bitten wolves had a tendency to acclimate to the change pretty slowly for the first several full moons, and that he shouldn’t be surprised if he wolfed out so hard tonight he forgets most of it. Scott just has to put his trust in Stiles and Derek to keep him safe, and to not let him hurt anyone. Stiles had kept a brave front up until this morning, when he started freaking out and making endless lists, all of which were currently laying on every surface of Scott’s bedroom. Scott wasn’t really that worried, although he didn’t want to tell Stiles that now, especially with the state he was in. He knew it would be like talking to a brick wall. The only thing Scott was worried about bringing was currently in his pocket. Everything else was just comfort. 

After a huge dinner of lasagna that Scott’s mom had stuck into the oven before she left for her shift, the boys grabbed their bags and headed out to the preserve in Stiles’ Jeep. They walked for about fifteen minutes before they found a nice bare clearing of grass and dirt, surrounded by trees on every side. Setting up the tent and cursing at how difficult it was to put together properly, Scott watched the worry on Stiles’ face slowly fade away. There was something about the woods that calmed the both of them. So many memories of their lives together had been amongst these trees, and Scott couldn’t think of a better place to spend the scariest night of his new life as a werewolf. Looking at Stiles, who was bent over with his hands inside a huge duffel bag, Scott couldn’t think of anyone else he would want to spend it with. 

“Dude,” Stiles said as he straightened up with a bag of marshmallows, and packs of chocolate bars and graham crackers in his hands, “fuckin’ s’mores time!”

The sunlight faded away as they built and ate their s’mores near the campfire, laughing when Stiles got melted sugar and chocolate all over his face, and Scott tackled him to clean it from his lips, both of them falling back onto the leaf-covered ground, kissing each other slowly at first. It quickly turned heated, and Scott could feel the beast inside him claw up his chest, wanting to come out and break free, to mount and claim Stiles. Scott focused, listened to Stiles’ deep breaths and sighs, his low moans when Scott kissed down the column of his neck, and he tamped the feeling down, tamed the wolf inside him wanting to get out and take control. 

Scott pushed himself to stand over Stiles and held out a hand. “C’mon, let’s get in the tent.”

Stiles grabbed his hand and Scott pulled him up, kissed him again, a sweet peck of lips, a sharp, quick bite of teeth on his jaw. They unzipped the tent and climbed inside, moved the sleeping bags and pillows around into a nest of sorts, trying to get as much cushion as possible on the firmly packed ground of the forest. Shedding their clothes and climbing under the blankets, they flicked off the camp light and settled down next to each other.

“Can you see like I can?” Scott asked. “In the dark?”

“I can see that bottle of lube you thought you were sneaky enough to hide from me,” Stiles responded. 

Scott laughed, felt his cheeks heat. “I just thought, maybe…” They had been teasing each other over the past couple of weeks, fingers circling and pressing over each others’ holes while they sucked each other off, and Scott wanted more, wanted to know what it felt like to be inside Stiles, for Stiles to be inside him. 

“You want to fuck me?” Stiles asked.  
Breath punching out from him, still not used to how bold Stiles could be with his words, Scott said, “Yes, god, yes. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, are you out of your mind?” Stiles asked as he swung a leg over Scott’s hip to climb into his lap. 

Scott sat up and wrapped his arms around Stiles, kissing his neck as he squeezed and massaged Stiles’ shoulders. The smell that Scott always associated with Stiles, a light musk mixed with grass and earth and rain, was the strongest here, and it drove Scott crazy, never able to get enough. The wolf began to climb up his ribcage again, so Scott reluctantly moved away from Stiles’ neck to kiss his lips, and was rewarded with a small bite to his mouth, Stiles’ sucking Scott’s lower lip between his own. Stiles leaned away and Scott watched him fumble through the pockets of Scott’s pants to pull out the bottle of lube. When Stiles snapped the top off, Scott held out his hand wordlessly, waiting for Stiles to squeeze some of the cold liquid onto his fingers. Once he did, Scott reached around to Stiles’ ass, slid his fingers in between his cheeks as Stiles hugged him tight, rocking slightly in his lap. Stiles tucked his head into Scott’s neck as Scott circled one finger around the rim of Stiles’ hole, shivering as he felt the tight muscle clench when he pressed lightly against it. He held his breath, so eager to feel the heat and tightness inside of Stiles, and gasped when his finger breached through, the lube easing the way as he slipped inside. Stiles moaned and bucked his hips, which rubbed their erections together and Scott let out an exclamation at the sensation. They stayed like that for several moments, Stiles rocking in Scott’s lap, rubbing their cocks together awkwardly as Scott slowly fucked his finger into Stiles. 

Stiles bit down on Scott’s earlobe and whimpered, “More, Jesus, fuck. Scott, give me more, please.” 

Scott added a second finger and Stiles’ movements became more erratic, the speed no longer allowing for enough friction on their cocks. 

“Just a little bit more,” Stiles panted out, “a little bit more and I’ll be good. Oh god, Scotty, please.”

Stuffing a third finger into Stiles, the tight muscle constricting around him, heat building inside of Scott as he thought about that tight warmth surrounding his cock, Scott watched in amazement as a soft light began to fill the tent, and it took him a moment to realize in the haze he was in, that it was Stiles’ skin glowing. Radiating silvery green light poured from Stiles’ skin, dancing constantly in waves and patterns that seemed to hypnotize Scott. The insides of the tent walls reminded Scott of the northern lights he had seen on TV before, beautiful multicolored displays against the dark sky. 

Stiles broke Scott from his reverie when he cried out, “Now, Scott, fuck, now!”

Scott pulled his fingers out of Stiles and too impatient to change positions, lifted Stiles in his lap to hover over his cock, moving him minutely until he could feel the swollen head of his dick press against Stiles’ fluttering, clenching hole. He grabbed Stiles’ cheeks and pulled them open, easing the slide onto his dick. Tight, incredibly hot softness engulfed him, and Scott threw his head back and howled as Stiles fully seated himself. Stiles rocked in place for a few moments, whimpering and moaning into Scott’s neck. Scott brought his head back upright and buried his face into Stiles’ neck, uncaring at the way it roused his wolf, and he fucked up into Stiles, slow and steady at first, but quickly turning erratic and sloppy. Stiles didn’t seem to care, if the moans and curses he made into Scott’s ear were any proof. Tightening his legs around Scott’s middle, Stiles lifted himself up, trying to match Scott’s thrusts and rhythm, pushing a grunt out of Scott each time he dropped his weight back onto Scott’s lap. Stiles threaded his fingers into Scott’s hair and tugged hard, the pain in Scott’s scalp only urging him on further, making his hips thrust harder, faster, into Stiles. 

Scott felt his fangs begin to elongate, and before he even had a chance to think about controlling himself, a loud, echoing crash came from outside their tent.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed out, falling backwards from Scott’s lap as he let go of his grip around him. Scott winced as his dick slid out of Stiles at an uncomfortable angle, and opened his mouth to wonder what the noise could have been when it happened again, this time louder and closer.

“Scott,” Stiles said, his voice calm but his face pinched with worry. “Scotty, we gotta get out of here. Whatever that is got past Derek, an alpha werewolf, so we _do not_ want to be here when it finds our tent.”

They rushed around in the tent looking for their clothes, knocking over the camp light and cursing as they tried to dress in the confines of the space. Stiles struggled with the zipper on the tent door, letting out a frightened whine when it didn’t budge, so Scott slashed his claws through the thin material, ripping a huge hole in the wall. Scrambling to their feet as they exited the tent, Scott’s ears perked as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards them. Stiles shouted, urging Scott to follow him away from the campsite, but the wolf inside of Scott couldn’t hear him, didn’t want to. All it knew was that there was a predator coming to attack, and the last thing it would allow itself was to run away with it’s tail between it’s legs like a coward. Scott roared, and the creature, whatever it was, incredibly tall and painfully thin, crooked arms and legs spinning around as it ran in a horrific visage, entered the clearing and barreled directly into Scott, knocking him over. His flesh seared and burned as Scott landed in the dwindling campfire, and he rolled onto his side to get out of the dying embers. A huge shape flew over Scott, and he looked up in time to see Stiles’ wings rush over him, delicate yet strong in their movements. Scott watched as Stiles crashed into the creature and they fell to the ground, rolling around as they fought each other. Long, spindly needles shot out from the creature’s limbs, piercing Stiles’ glowing skin, but nothing seemed to deter Stiles from continuing to fight back. After what seemed to Scott like an eternity, Stiles overpowered the nightmarish creature and snapped his neck, yanking hard until it’s head tore away from it’s body, a disgusting sound of ripping flesh accompanying the sight of the detached spinal column sliding out of it’s torso. 

Scott heaved himself onto his knees and stood up, felt his burnt flesh begin to knit back together, before leaning down to help Stiles to his feet. He tugged Stiles up, clasped his hand to pull him towards him so he could kiss him, feel him, know he was safe and alive when the arrow slid through Stiles’ stomach with a wet _thunk_. Stiles looked down at it, then up at Scott, eyes wide and mouth gaping. 

“No,” Stiles mouthed, no sound coming out, and then he was gone, his body disintegrated into ether, leaving behind a silver green cloud of dust floating around Scott’s body.

~~~~

It was hunters that had killed Stiles, a local group who had caught wind of a fae in their town, and the arrow was made of iron, the only thing that could truly kill a fae. Derek had found Scott in the clearing after dawn, had dragged himself there through the forest when he awoke from the creature’s attack. Scott had been numb, in complete disbelief over what happened, and it took him several days to even speak, knowing that if he had opened his mouth every secret would have come spilling out, unable in his grief to hold it back. Derek had helped him, as much as he could, telling Scott’s friends and his mom that Stiles’ family had decided to move back to San Francisco, and that Scott was distraught from losing him so suddenly. 

Derek and Scott had a small funeral in the woods, right in the clearing where they had spent the night of the full moon. 

“Was any of this even real?” Scott asked Derek, tears streaming down his face as he knelt on the cold ground. The forest no longer held the same comfort it used to, the trees dark and looming, no sunlight peeking through. It even smelled terrible, dank and rotten, like the inside of a cave. 

Derek nodded, promised Scott that of course it was real, hadn’t it felt real? Scott was unable to answer him. The only thing that felt real now was his grief, the sickening, gutting feeling that lay like dead weight in his stomach. To have the person he had loved most in his life become real and solid only to be ripped from his hands so suddenly, surely that couldn’t have happened. Life couldn’t be that cruel. 

Scott had another year left of high school, and he floated through it, head heavy and filled with fog. His friends tried their best to cheer him up, make him go out, do regular things, but for the most part he spent his days doing homework, working at the vet clinic, and helping Derek when he needed a hand with any supernatural issues. By graduation, he had begun to come out of his shell again, finally giving in to his mother’s threats and spending some time with Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. Derek had started a pack, a few misfit teenagers from Scott’s high school whose lives needed a change, needed something more in them. Scott would join them sometimes as they trained, but his heart was never fully in it. Derek knew, he understood, and he respected Scott’s distance. Eventually he would come around, but for now, Scott still needed time to mourn.

He got accepted into the veterinary medicine program at UCLA, and over the summer he was able to distract himself by planning for his move to school. He was determined that once he got there, his life would start anew. He’d have a new place to make new memories, new spaces and people and smells that didn’t remind him at every turn of Stiles and what he lost.

The first week of September, Scott packed up his things, new bed sheets, posters, towels, shower shoes, everything he’d need for life in the dorm, into his mom’s old car and left for Los Angeles. He cried in the car on the way down, tears blurring his vision as he left the only town he’d ever lived in, left so many things behind, left Stiles. When he got to the campus it was hot, almost stifling, and he found his parking spot and started to unload his car. Wandering around, he spotted the sign on the side of a building, letting him know he found the right dorm. He trudged up the stairs, balancing several boxes, trying to look like they were heavier than what he could actually carry, bumping into other students rushing around in their own panics and excitement. Scott reached his floor and counted as he passed each door, stopping at an open one that had to be his own. He shuffled awkwardly into the room, navigating around piles of boxes that his roommate must have brought in earlier.

“Hey!” called a familiar sounding voice, and Scott barely caught himself before he dropped his boxes. 

Heart beating a million miles an hour, Scott slowly lowered them to the ground, then willed himself to look up. 

A tall, lanky boy, brown hair tangled and messy, geeky black-framed glasses on a face scattered with moles and freckles that Scott could have mapped out in his sleep, stood in front of Scott, hand held out in greeting.

“Hi,” he said with a wide, warm smile, and Scott’s heart pounded in his chest. “I’m Stiles.” 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr](http://aeneapsych.tumblr.com) :D


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